


Working From Home

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Attempt at Humor, Brotherly Love, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: Mycroft Holmes doesn't work from home often enough. There are some parts of being the Ice Man that need to stay at the office. However, when an unexpected bump in the night leaves him and Greg in a child care crisis, he's forced to juggle two elements of his life that he cherishes most.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1012395
Comments: 18
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter One

It hadn’t been the calmest of nights. Mycroft had returned home particularly late from work, it hadn’t been an easy day, poured himself a scotch, neglected the rocks for exhaustion and collapsed into bed next to Greg. Greg had given him a sleepy scolding before falling back asleep with his arm across his chest, neglecting to inform his husband that he had collapsed in bed himself not twenty minutes before Mycroft walked through the door. Greg had also suffered a monumentally bad day however he had discovered early in his relationship with Mycroft never to compare stories, no matter how many dead bodies he’d seen in a day, the ice man had seen…worse. The handful of work stories he had received from Mycroft still haunted him. 

They both knew from the aura of their sleeping other half that they wouldn’t see much of each other over the following 24 hours. Work was work was work, and work was a bitch. They had long fallen into a pattern of acceptance with each other’s work schedules and there was something to appreciate when their difficult days coincided, at least they weren’t leaving their husband home along waiting. 

They both fell asleep after a groggy kiss, knowing that they’d pass out for a few hours before reluctantly waking early to return to their respective offices. What neither man knew, or expected, that their front door would open once again that night. However, they both woke immediately when it did.

“Love?” Greg called into the darkness,

“I’m going,” Mycroft whispered back, only to be unceremoniously yanked backwards,

“Stay.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered back, not particularly pleased to be superseded in heroics by his husbands but somehow at the same time, even more attracted to the man than he had ever been.

“Stay. Brolly?”

“Here, always.” Mycroft indicated his umbrella, never far from his side.

“Good. Stay.”

“I’m not a dog,” Mycroft hissed,

“Not the time, love.” Greg whispered back, taking his gun from the pile of clothes he’d discarded and walking to the door. 

Downstairs there was a crash.

The men exchanged a glance in the dark, they could barely make out each other’s outlines but knew they were sharing a mutual glare that said “I love you,” “Be careful”.

Then there was a giggle.

A very loud giggle followed by a screech, thump, and another giggle.

“Fuck sake,” Greg grumbled and switched on the light, making both men blink at the brightness. Any sense of fear or caution completely forgotten. “Little shits.”

“Light off,” Mycroft grumbled collapsing back onto his side,

“Oh, I’ll go shall I?”

“I’m ‘staying’.”

“Behave.” Greg grumbled. “Should have bloody known, they’re the only two your security would let break in.”

“They didn’t break in, they’ve got keys.” Mycroft sighed,

“Well they’ve broken something.”

“Well, you deal with them, I’ve got to be back in the office in a couple of hours.”

“So ‘av I!”

“Oh hush.” Mycroft waved an arm in Greg’s direction, never opening his eyes.

“I’ll hush you in a minute.” Greg grumbled, putting his gun down on the chest of drawers he left the room in search of the ‘intruders’. “Boys?!” He bellowed down the stairs.

“John shush!”

“You shush I’m shushing!” 

“Noooo, you’re bein’ very loud.”

“You’re being louderer!”

“You’re both being bloody loud!” Greg barked from the top of the stairs, glaring at the boys who were stood arguing in the middle of the hallway, the coat rack on the floor between them, one of Mycroft’s antique bowls was in pieces on the tile. 

Both boys flinched and peered up to watch their Da stomping downwards in their direction.

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Swore!” Sherlock pointed an accusing finger, John nodded along with him. Greg stopped, two steps from the bottom and sighed, running a hand over his face he nodded.

“Yep, sorry lad, bad Da. What’s going on boys?”

“We was out-“ John started,

“We were out, John dear.” Mycroft corrected as he appeared at the top of the stairs, tying his dressing gown around him. He couldn’t leave Greg to it, he felt too guilty. Bloody love and all of the nonsense that comes with it.

“Yeh, yeh, we were out-“ John started again, the words were falling out at a rate of knots. 

“An’ sleepy.” Sherlock added.

“Yeh cos of works, lots of lots of works-“

“An’ murders!” Sherlock added with glee,

“Yeh them as well, and Lock felled over and we giggled cos it was funny then Lock said we needed to come home cos we was little.”

“Were little, my love.” Mycroft sighed, walking down to join his husband. “And well done, you’ve both been very big boys, that was the right thing to do.”

“Yep, good lads,” Greg nodded, “Now bed.” He nodded upwards towards the boys bedroom.

“’aven’t ‘ad a bath yet!” John gasped,

“My knees hurt.” Sherlock pouted.

“You can have a bath in the morning dear, go up with Da and he’ll tuck you in,” Mycroft ushered John in Greg’s direction, “Let’s look at your knees,” he moved Sherlock towards the kitchen, “Then straight to bed for you too.”

“Kay I need bandages,”

“Well, let me see first.”

“Up you go John lad,” Greg stepped aside and pushed John ahead of him,

“Can I ‘av a story?”

“No lad, it’s too late for stories.”

“It’s early!”

“Yep, very very early, bed, go on.”

In the kitchen Mycroft settled Sherlock on a chair and went in search of the first aid box, “Stay there, dear, I’ll be right back.”

“I felled hard.”

“I’m sure you did, it sounds as though you two have been to the pub.” Mycroft murmured, returning with the green box, he didn’t sound impressed, so Sherlock shook his head,

“No!” 

“I think that’s a fib.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow and touched a finger against Sherlock’s nose, “Don’t fib to me.”

“Sorry.”

“Mm. Thank you for apologising. We’ll talk about your behaviour in the morning. For now, roll your trousers up,”

Sherlock tried to comply, but his suit trousers were a touch too tight to be rolled up above the knee, Mycroft rolled his eyes, the fashion choices of his younger brother were ever a mystery to him. 

“Right, trousers off then, you’ll be in your pyjamas in a moment anyway.”

Sherlock stood but struggled with the button above his fly, “Oh no.” he pouted,

“That’s alright, let me help.”

“Yeah help.” Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft removed his trousers, folding them meticulously and placed them on the table, he winced when he caught sight of Sherlock kneecaps, both bruised and grazed, he clucked his tongue both affectionately and as a quiet admonishment.

“Dear me, sit down darling,”

Sherlock winced as Mycroft gently cleaned both grazes before carefully sealing plasters over both injuries.

“Well done, brave boy.” He ruffled Sherlock’s hair, “Give me that big coat of yours and then up to bed.”

“Keep safe.” Sherlock nodded seriously as he was stripped of his superhero suit and Mycroft nodded just as seriously in return,

“Of course, up you go, I’ll just be a minute.”

Sherlock nodded and made his way up the stairs, leaving Mycroft alone to store the Belstaff in it’s hiding place, safe from small grubby hands at the strict instruction of his more mature younger brother. 

Mycroft quietly tucked Sherlock into bed, careful not to wake a fast-asleep John in the bed a few feet away, he kissed him on the forehead and retreated to his own bedroom, where he found his husband sat up in bed, his reading glasses at the end of his nose.

“Oh dear, are we going to have a serious conversation?” Mycroft snickered, he never failed to find the reading glasses a confusing mixture of attractive and hilarious. 

“Knock it off,”

“You should be asleep.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Am I in trouble?” Mycroft asked only half joking, he had pushed his luck earlier.

“No love, but we need to decide what’s going to happen in the morning.”

“Happen?”

“Yep, one of us needs to stay home.”

“I was rather hoping we’d just ignore that until later.”

“No, because that’s Mycroftian for ‘I’ll wake up before you and disappear in a puff of smoke and leave you to deal with the terror twins in there’.”

“They’re good boys.” Mycroft sighed as he slid into bed alongside Greg,

“That they are, but one of us is going to have to stay home and watch them.”

“I get the feeling this is leading to me being that one.”

“Well I can’t bloody well interview suspects from home, can I?”

“Nor can I…” Mycroft quietened, not willing to reveal his planned activities to his husband, “Well, it goes without saying there are some parts of my job that are not conducive to a safe child care environment.” 

“Love, I’ve got to pull rank on this one-“

Mycroft scoffed loudly, “Pull rank? Pull rank?! There is not a single being on this isle that I cannot ‘pull rank’ on, my love,” Mycroft sounded dangerous, Greg was not a fan of dangerous Mycroft.

“That’s not what I meant-“ Greg tried to back out of the argument with his balls intact. 

“No, what you meant is that in this house you’re a toppy bastard and think you can tell me what to do, and while there is some… truth in that, when it comes to work I think you’ll find, my love, that I can have your badge removed in the blink of an eye-“ It was Mycroft’s turn to be afraid, he’d overstepped. He always bloody overstepped.

“You’re grounded.” Greg growled,

“Sorry dear, that was-“

“Stupid? That was a bloody stupid thing to say.”

“I am sorry.” Mycroft offered sincerely.

“Good, and you’re grounded.”

“Convenient for you,” Mycroft mumbled,

“What was that?!”

“Nothing.”

“Damn straight, nothing. Tomorrow, I’ll watch the boys, but until then you don’t leave this house without my eyes on you. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Now go to sleep, you’ll need it.”

“Yes dear.” Mycroft reached over and turned off his bedside light, Greg did the same.

“And when we’re both less exhausted, I’ll show you ‘toppy bastard’.”

“Is that a promise?” Mycroft chuckled, and Greg wrapped a strong arm around him, pulling him close.

“Yes that’s a promise, now sleep, cheeky sod.”

When Mycroft woke it was with more pride in his cheeky self than ever before, somehow, he’d left the argument with the better deal. It was early, far too early for anyone to be awake and yet his husband was pulling on his suit jacket in the dark.

“Go back to sleep, love.”

“How do you know I’m awake?” Mycroft whispered,

“I always know,” Greg chuckled, “The boys are fast asleep, you should be too.” 

“Will you be out late?”

“Not sure, maybe, hopefully not, probably.”

“Do whatever you can to be home for dinner.”

“What are you making?”

“The boys are here so probably those ghastly turkey shapes and baked beans.”

“My favourite,” Greg grinned.

“I wish you were joking,” Mycroft sighed.

“I know you have to work love, but don’t miss out on too much time with the boys today.”

“I don’t think they’ll let me.”

“I’ll miss the three of you.”

“Come home for dinner.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“God knows why.”

“Quite.”

“Sleep, love.”

“Yes dear.”

Greg was halfway out of the bedroom when Mycroft called him back with a whisper,

“Darling?”

“Yes love,”

“I know I’m…”

“Grounded?”

“Mm, that, but what if the boys need something from the shop?”

“Then the goons go,”

“Don’t call the children that,”

“Don’t be cheeky. No leaving the house, not unless there’s a real emergency.”

“Alright then,” Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes,

“Behave yourself, I’ll see you for tea.”

“Dinner, darling it’s dinner, tea is a hot beverage.”

“And you’re a posh twat who’ll pay for that one later, behave. Love you.” With that Greg was gone and Mycroft fell back into a peaceful sleep, only sad his husband wasn’t going to enjoy the day with him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are all wonders...

John-John woke up to the ever so gentle prodding of a finger on his face.

“Gerrof.” He whined and turned away from the prodding only for the offending finger to follow him too. He tried to bat it away, squeezing his eyes tight in case he lost track of his dream but then he heard whining that wasn’t his and his curiosity overtook him. Opening his eyes and peering into the dark he saw the outline of his brother hovering over him. “Lock?” John sat up rubbing his eyes and managed to focus on Sherlock who was standing beside him with his thumb in his mouth,

“Up now?” Sherlock asked quietly, and John shook his head,

“No, no, sleepy time now.” John went back to lie down and Sherlock fussed, frustrated that he wasn’t listening,

“John-John!” He whined loudly, and John sat up again,

“Shhhh, Da said be in bed ‘till Pa gets us.”

“Noooo.”

“Yehhhhh.”

“Hungry.” Sherlock pouted, and John frowned,

“Oh no, hungry?”

“Yeh hungry.” Sherlock nodded.

John looked at his brother closely, his thumb was never far from his mouth and he was clinging onto his ‘blanket’ with his free hand. At the townhouse in case of emergencies such as this, when the boys arrived unannounced, they had back up toys, Nelson and Bear lived at 221B. For Sherlock his back up toy was a large square of tartan woolen scarf, cut from an old scarf of Greg’s that had frayed when he had thrown it in a 30 degree ‘catch all’ wash. To save himself from being mercilessly mocked by his husband he had trimmed the edges and given it to a very young Sherlock who was lounging on the sofa. The ploy worked, Sherlock adored it and Mycroft was silenced.

“Will milk ‘elp?” John asked and Sherlock nodded, his curls flopping about. “Okay, we get milk.” John nodded and climbed out of bed, he turned and tucked his back up toy, a knitted red fox in a sweater purchased in an emergency from a petrol station by a once again flustered Greg, under the covers. He wasn’t feeling so small that he needed Fox’s help, but he wasn’t going to just leave his friend unattended, he needed to be tucked back into bed to catch up on much-needed sleep. John then reached for Sherlock’s hand but his brother shook his head, both of his hands currently occupied. 

“Need ta hold my hand.” John grumbled feeling very important now that he knew he was the 'big brother'.

“Na-uh.”

John patted his mouth with his hand as an indication of what he was thinking as he scanned the room. “Oh, I know!” He chirped and skipped over to the chest of drawers, pulling them open and pulling out their contents until he discovered a pacifier.

“Mine?!” Sherlock asked and John nodded skipping back,

“A-huh, I don’ need it I’m too big.”

Sherlock grabbed the pacifier from his brother and pushed it into his mouth before thrusting his free hand out for John to take.

“Sticky hand.” John grumbled as he started to lead Sherlock from the room, “No fumb, Lock.”

“Like it.” Sherlock grumbled back, rubbing his cheek with his blanket.

“S’gross.”

“Na-uh!”

“Shushes! Pa sleeping.”

“Ohhhh.” Sherlock nodded, “Sorry Pa,” he whispered, and John nodded in agreement.

When they reached the top of the stairs John crouched down and patted the carpet, “Sit on your bum.”

“Okay. Sherlock nodded and carefully sat down on the top step, “Scared,” he whispered when he looked down the length of the stairs,

“Is okay I’ll hold your hand.”

“Then milk?”

“Then milk.” John nodded and step by step they made their way down the stairs, Sherlock clinging on to John’s hand tightly. “Almos’ there.”

Once they were at the bottom of the stairs John stood, after helping Sherlock up he pulled him towards the kitchen.

“You gotta go back to bed wif your milk.”

“Whyyyyyy?”

“Cos it’s early.”

“No’s not.”

“The sun’s not awake.”

“Oh.” Sherlock pouted and stood where John left him in the middle of the kitchen, watching as John went in search of a cup for him. He was less aware of the need to be quiet now that there was a floor between them and Mycroft and pulled plastic plates and cutlery and cups tumbling out of cupboards as he tried to find the perfect sippy cup. He finally felt positive about his choice and popped up to look at Sherlock,

“Rockits?” He asked holding up a dark blue sippy cup adorned with orange rockets, Sherlock nodded excitedly and continued to watch John wide-eyed as he went to the fridge and picked up the large plastic bottle of milk. He carried it to the counter with the seriousness that the job required before thinking very seriously about how he was going to transfer the milk from the heavy bottle to the small cup.

“Careful,” Sherlock mumbled around his pacifier and John nodded,

“I know,”

Sherlock then gasped as John began to climb up onto the countertop, using a stool for leverage, “Uh oh John,”

“S’okay.”

John then unscrewed the lid of the bottle and tried to lean it against his knee, so the direction of the milk stream would hit the general direction of the cup, he was just about to fully commit when he and Sherlock both jumped, the light had been turned on.

Both boys blinked and looked at each other wondering which one of them was responsible. Neither of them.

“John, what do you think you are doing?” Mycroft asked from the doorway as he rubbed his forehead.

“Milk.” John nodded his head towards the milk bottle in his hand hoping that would help explain.

“I can see that. Are you allowed to pour your own milk?”

“No.” John pouted as Mycroft approached, he took the bottle from John and effortlessly filled Sherlock’s rocket cup before screwing the lids on both containers with a raised eyebrow. John couldn’t believe how easy he made it look. “Was for Lock though.”

“You’re still not allowed,” Mycroft took John’s face in his hand and squeezed lightly, “You know that. Are you allowed to climb on the counters?”

“No.”

“No.” he put the milk back in the fridge and returned to help John down from his incriminating spot. “You should both be in bed.”

“Thas what I said!” John protested and Mycroft nodded, knowing this was most likely true,

“Okay, well would you like some milk too?”

“Yeh please.” John nodded,

“Polite boy, well done, pick a cup for yourself. Lock come here darling,”

Sherlock shuffled over and Mycroft swept his curls back from his face, 

“You should still be in bed young man.”

“No sleepy.” Sherlock shook his head.

“’E said he was hungry.” John piped up from the floor where he was searching for his cup.

“Is that so? Are you hungry dear?”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, I expect you are, you’ve probably gone days without a solid meal.”

“No!” Sherlock shook his head and Mycroft chuckled,

“You forget little monster, I know you too well. John dear, have you picked a cup?”

“Too many…” John pondered his choices and Mycroft smiled down,

“That’s what I keep telling your Da, but he just keeps buying them.”

“Ah!” John grinned and pulled out a sippy cup spotted with footballs, “Mine!”

“Yes that’s definitely yours dear,”

John clambered up from the floor and handed his cup of choice to Mycroft,

“John darling, can you take your brother to watch some television, I’ll bring through your milk in a moment.”

“Okay, I do that,” John nodded and took Sherlock’s hand,

“Good boy, thank you.”

Mycroft watched fondly as John lead Sherlock from the room before filling John’s cup with milk and searching for breakfast snacks that would tide them both over for a while. It was far too early for either of them to be up and if he could encourage them to fall asleep for a little while longer he could get a head start on the day. Honey and oat bars would do, wouldn’t they? Would they? Yes, they’d do. Mycroft knew there was no chance of moving the boys back into their beds until nap time, so he’d have to make his peace with the idea of them falling asleep in front of the television. He’d have to chastise himself for that later, today was going to be a survival mission for the three of them. Both boys would be emotionally fragile, and Mycroft was not used to working from home with them present, definitely not without Greg as back up. 

He collected a couple of throw blankets from the laundry room and took the boys milk and snacks through to them. John, ever the good big brother, had successfully transferred himself and Sherlock to the sofa where they were watching a colourful cartoon.

“There are my boys,”

He handed them their own cup and an oat bar before attempting to tuck them comfortably into the sofa,

“Now then,” he crouched, positioning himself between the boys and the television, “Do you think you two can stay here and watch television while I shower?”

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded, peering around Mycroft, frustrated that he was getting in the way of the cartoon,

“Why go?” John asked with a cross little frown,

“I need to shower darling, I won’t be long, I promise. I can watch you both on my phone, so do as I say and stay put please.”

“Why?” John asked, as though he thought Mycroft was trying to trick him.

“Because I said so.” Mycroft smiled and stroked John’s hair, “I won’t be long, can you be good boys?”

“Yehhhh, can’t see!” Sherlock whined, and Mycroft turned an arched eyebrow on him,

“Behave.”

“Sorry.” Sherlock pouted,

“Stay right here please.”

“Kay Pa.” John nodded. Mycroft winked and left them to it.

Mycroft made quick work of getting ready for the day. He informed Anthea that he wouldn’t be in the office, showered, dressed, tidied the bedroom, tidied the boys’ room, answered Greg’s text and made his way down to find the boys. Much to his relief, they were both where he had left them, dozing in front of the television, their milk and snacks, however, largely forgotten. It seemed John was the only one with any interest in milk at this point, despite the urgency of their early morning mission. This was another relatively new development that Mycroft wasn't the least bit pleased about. The boys were obviously hungry, and at some point, Sherlock had been aware of this, however without supervision they had both seemingly forgotten about their own hunger. Were this a strictly 'little' development there wouldn't be so much to worry about, Mycroft was convinced that it was not strictly a 'little' development. John had lost weight recently and Sherlock was well...Sherlock. 

“Darlings, I’m going to make you some breakfast, do you want to come with me or do you want to stay here?”

“Stay,” John mumbled around the spout of his cup, Sherlock just nodded from his position resting his head on John’s shoulder.

“Alright then, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Mycroft left them to it and made his way to the kitchen. He always found breakfast a difficult meal to prepare for the boys. There was very little that their little selves really liked in the morning. They both liked the idea of cereal, but the very moment the flakes or pops became remotely soggy, their bowls were abandoned, and a screaming fit ensued if they were made to finish. They were both fond of ‘Greg’ breakfasts, pop tarts or pancakes or waffles that came in a foil packet to be ‘cooked’ in the toaster. Mycroft was, however, most definitely not a fan. They were other examples of food that the boys’ liked in concept but not so much when they were really expected to eat them. They liked the sugary coatings and toppings, would eat a few mouthfuls of what was effectively lumps of e-numbers before finding it sickly and pushing their plates away. Mycroft’s breakfast of choice for all three of his boys was always porridge, it was relatively malleable in flavour and in the most part, nutritious. However, children of the boys’ current age rarely took to porridge, what with its tendency to resemble vomit.

Toast it was.

It was always bloody toast.

John liked marmite, Sherlock…did not.

Sherlock liked his toast cut into soldiers, John liked his in triangles.

Sherlock would suck the butter from his toast like a sponge and try to convince whoever was watching him that said sucking ‘counted’ as eating.

John would never, ever eat his crusts. 

Mycroft prepared enough food for the three of them and set the table, he also mixed two bottles of high-calorie milkshakes and placed them in the fridge in case neither boy actually ate anything. 

For the past six months they had been particularly bad at taking care of themselves unsupervised. Not that they were little, they were just…useless. Work was going particularly well which meant they often spend seven days out of ten running around the country solving whichever case they had come across, never eating or sleeping and then crashing drastically when the case was solved and the adrenaline lacking. On two occasions Greg had been called to the pub to pick them up when their celebratory drinks had gotten out of hand. Mycroft was hoping that this unplanned time with their little selves would give him a chance to look after them in a way neither of them had been able to look after themselves for a few days.

He returned to the boys where he found them both rapt by the goings-on on the television.

“Breakfast, boys.”

“Bit more telly,” John mumbled not taking his eyes from the screen, Sherlock just nodded in agreement.

“You can watch some more once you’ve eaten, come on.”

“Nooo Pa,” John whined, still not looking at him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked over to the television, turning it off and leaning behind to unplug it from the wall. Both boys knew how to turn the television on, neither of them would dare to go near the plugs.

Both boys whined loudly until Mycroft turned an arched eyebrow on them, then they fell silent.

“Breakfast, come on.”

“Lock needs carry,” John mumbled, and Mycroft smiled fondly at him,

“You’re a good big brother dear, do you know that?” He asked as he approached the sofa and helped Sherlock onto his hip with a grunt, “Isn’t he a good big brother Lock?”

Sherlock nodded with a hum from Mycroft’s shoulder before realising he’d left his dummy behind on the sofa, he whined and reached back almost throwing Mycroft off his balance.

“Uh-oh I get it,” John chirped and picked up the discarded pacifier before reaching towards Sherlock with it. Lock opened his mouth in anticipation before snapping it closed and covering the dummy with a free hand (his other hand was clinging onto his blanket) in case it escaped again.

“I know someone who’s getting a gold star on their chart,” Mycroft smiled at John, “Come on let’s go.”

“Is me?!” John asked as he skipped behind Mycroft towards the kitchen.

“Oh yes, you’ve been a very good boy this morning.”

“Can tell Da?” John asked. He’d fallen into a particularly comfortable age for him, older than Sherlock but still very young, this was when Mycroft felt he was most himself (well, he was also pretty ‘himself’ when he was a moody teenager but both dads found that stage considerably less adorable). It was in this particular window that he had the most in common with Greg (well again, that and when he was a moody bloody teenager) a little whirlwind of goofy smiles, stomping feet and balled up fists that would happily play in the garden with a battered football and mud castles for hours. It was because of this stage of John that the sticker charts had been instigated. Both Greg and Mycroft had done a great deal of research into how to best deal with children like little John and positive reinforcement seemed key, particularly when John-John found simple things like sitting still hard on even a good day.

“I think that’s a marvelous idea, we’ll give him a call after breakfast.”

“No hungry, Pa.” John shook his head making his hair bounce about.

“Well you need to eat something,” Mycroft helped Sherlock into his seat, “Would you like a bottle?”

Sherlock nodded even though the question wasn’t directed at him making Mycroft chuckled, but John gasped, “I’m not baby!”

“No, you’re not,” Mycroft brushed his fingers through Sherlock’s hair before turning his attention to John, “But you need to eat something my dear, so I’ve got toast,” He held out one hand, “Or a bottle,” Another hand, “What will it be darling?”

“Errr,” John scrunched up his eyes as he thought, swinging his feet and drumming his palms against the table, “Bottle!” John decided, beaming at Mycroft,

“Good choice,” Mycroft planted a kiss on John’s forehead before moving towards the fridge.

“Good, good, good.” John chanted until Mycroft returned and handed him his bottle, “Can have with telly?”

“Nooo, we eat breakfast at the table in this family, don’t we John?”

“Is drink, not eatin’.”

“It’s still your breakfast dear, so we stay at the table until you’re both finished.”

“Okay,” John nodded,

“Good boy,” Mycroft sat down and helped Sherlock onto his lap so he could hold his bottle for him, “You are making so many good choices this morning John, I’m very proud.”

“Proud!” John grinned and Mycroft nodded as he rocked Sherlock gently.

“Now then, I need you both to be very good boys today, I’ve got to work from home-“

“No work, no work, no work,” John started chanting again and Mycroft calmly held a finger over his own mouth with the hand that was holding Sherlock’s bottle. John watched and fidgeted for a moment before copying Mycroft and falling silent. “Good boy,” Mycroft went back to feeding Sherlock but kept his eyes on John, “So, if you boys can be well behaved and play quietly in the front room, I’ll work from there with you. If you can’t be well behaved, you’ll both have to pick one toy and play in my office with me. So, do you think you can be good boys?”

“Ahuh!” John nodded, Sherlock didn’t respond, he was half asleep. “Can watch telly?”

“I should think so, if we keep the volume down, I’ll take my calls in the hallway.” 

“Can play out?”

“No dear, I’m sorry but I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Jus’ a little bit.” 

“No John, maybe tomorrow when Da’s home.”

“No fair!” John shouted, suddenly cross,

“Ah, ah,” Mycroft held his finger over his mouth again, “Calm down darling.”

John glared at Mycroft, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Do you need some quiet time in the corner?” Mycroft asked, eyebrow raised, and John shook his head uncrossing his arms to pick up his bottle.

“Good boy,” Mycroft nodded, “That was another good choice. We can ask Da about playing in the garden tomorrow when we call him, hm?” 

“Mmhm,” John nodded as he drank.

“And I think you’ve earned two stars already,”

John gasped and looked at Mycroft wide-eyed,

“I know,” Mycroft nodded in agreement, it was indeed gasp-worthy, “That’s how good you’ve been,”

“Two stars good.” John nodded and Mycroft laughed,

“That’s right, you’ve been two stars good.” Mycroft looked down at Sherlock who was now sucking just air from his empty bottle, “It’s all gone my love, would you like some more?”

Sherlock grunted and shook his head,

“Right then, I’ll swap you,” Mycroft took the bottle away and swapped it with Sherlock’s pacifier before sitting him up and rubbing his back, “Let’s get you both washed and dressed,” From the counter, just out of reach, his phone started to ring. “John dear, can you be a very good boy and hand me my phone?”

John hopped up, nodding and rushed to hand Mycroft his phone, he handed it over ever so carefully, Pa’s phone was a precious thing.

“Thank you darling, can you sit down for me?”

Again John nodded and did as he was told, Mycroft answered his phone,

“Yes?

I’m aware…

I’ll call you back in a moment.”

Mycroft hung up and looked across at John, “I’ll need to get you dressed later, let’s get you settled first.”

“Okay!” John chirped and scuttled from the room carrying his bottle in both hands, Mycroft chuckled to himself before tapping Sherlock on the hip,

“Your silly brother, eh? He’ll lose that bottle, just you see. Up you hop my dear, let’s get you cosy on the sofa,”

Sherlock grunted his disapproval at the order and clung onto Mycroft, burying his head on his Pa’s shoulder.

“Oh dear me, is it really that bad?” Mycroft kissed Sherlock’s hair, “Don’t tell your Da I did this,” he grumbled before putting all of his energy into lifting Sherlock from the chair, he felt a pang in his back but nothing too bad, then begun carrying Sherlock through to John. “Myc that’s bloody stupid,” he mimicked his husband, making Sherlock giggle, “Oh is that funny, hm?” Sherlock nodded against his cheek, “Anything to make you smile.”

He near enough collapsed onto the sofa, Sherlock in tow before managing to separate himself from the tangle of limbs as he scanned the room for John. He found him sitting an inch from the television screen and rolled his eyes, “John dear, can you come here?”

“Inna minit.” 

“No darling, now.”

“Little bit.”

“Now.”

John sighed as he clambered up from the floor, a task he found difficult as he was still clutching his bottle in both hands, he began to wander towards Mycroft never taking his eyes from the screen,

“Look where you’re going my love,” Mycroft sighed, and John finally looked at him,

“Huh?”

“Come here poppet,” Mycroft held out a hand and wiggled his fingers, John skipped over with a smile, the wiggling of fingers always seemed so enticing. Once he was within reach Mycroft snaked a hand down the back of John’s pyjamas,

“No!” John tried to squirm away only to find that his Pa had a hold on his waistband,

“I need you to do a very important job for me, do you think you can do that?” Mycroft asked and John stopped wriggling, tilting his head curiously,

“Job?”

“Yes, a job only my big boy can do.”

“I do job.” John nodded seriously, and Mycroft smiled,

“Can you go to the laundry room and bring me one pull up and one nappy?”

“Yeh I do that.” John nodded again,

“That’s my good boy, straight there and straight back and you’ll get another sticker to show Da. Don’t go anywhere else though darling, straight there and straight back.”

“I do it!” John nodded eager for another sticker and Mycroft nodded before lightly swatting him in the direction of the door.

Myc turned his attention to Sherlock who had been fussing the whole time, not happy about no longer being in his lap.

“Alright fuss pot, I’ll get you changed then you can have a nap,” 

Sherlock shook his head with a pout and Mycroft chuckled,

“Yes, that’s why you’re cross, because you’re tired.”

Again, Sherlock shook his head.

“Yes, but you’re going to have a nap down here with me and John.”

Sherlock suddenly changed his mind on the whole nap affair and nodded eagerly, he was very tired and really wanted to sleep but hadn’t been keen on the idea of being taken up to bed. Sleeping on the sofa sounded wonderful.

“Yes, I thought you’d like that idea,” Mycroft turned towards the door, “John dear?”

John skipped through carrying a pull up in one hand and a nappy in the other, looking very pleased with himself.

“My word what a good boy!” Mycroft grinned (putting to the very back of his mind the mess John had almost certainly made in his search) and beckoned John over, “Where’s your bottle gone?”

“Dropped it.” John smiled and Myc laughed,

“Fair enough, as they say. Right,” he grabbed John’s waistband again, “Two seconds my dear and then you can play,”

John whined loudly and tried to wriggle away,

“Yes, yes I know you don’t like this part,”

It only took Mycroft a moment to strip John of his old pull up, help him into another and replace his pyjamas. “There, all done darling, now you can play but no leaving this room without me, okay?”

“Kay,” John mumbled as he trotted off towards the telly.

“Now your turn my other darling, lie back for me…yes, I can’t change you while you’re in my lap, come on,”

As Mycroft tried to convince Sherlock to lie down his phone began to ring,

“Damn, right, you stay right here I’ll be right back,”

Sherlock whined and clung onto Mycroft even tighter, 

“I’ll just be a moment, you stay here with John-“

Again Sherlock whined and Mycroft rolled his eyes,

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay here, just hush, you,” 

Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and answered it, and for the first time in his career held a conversation with a world leader while hushing a whining Sherlock by jiggling his knee and showing John his impressed face when the boy made a toy car do a wheelie across the coffee table. He kept the call short and slipped his phone back into his pocket,

“Okay little one let’s get you changed,”

Sherlock reluctantly allowed himself to be manhandled until he was lying back on the sofa, blanket clutched to his face,

“What is your John-John doing, hm?” Mycroft asked, trying to distract Sherlock,

“Cars,” Sherlock mumbled as he watched John racing his cars on the table,

“That’s right, John likes cars, doesn’t he?”

“Trucks!” Sherlock nodded,

“Yes, and trucks, and what does Sherlock like?”

Sherlock thought for a moment, wriggling his legs as he did.

“Hold still, darling,”

“Hold still darlin’,” John parroted and Mycroft chuckled, “You sound like your Da, what do you think John, what does Sherlock like?”

“Murders!” John chirped with a cheeky grin and Mycroft shot him a warning glare and Sherlock shook his head and mumbled,

“No, no,”

“He does!” John protested,

“Lock doesn’t though, does he dear?”

“No not Lock,” John shook his head as a small plastic bear joined in the race across the coffee table, “But Sherlock does.”

“Ah, I see, did I confuse you for a moment?” 

“Yeah, ‘fused.” John nodded,

“I’m sorry dear, can you come here for a moment?”

“In trouble?” John asked quietly and Mycroft smiled fondly,

“No darling, I’ve got another job for my big boy,” Mycroft wiggled his fingers and John abandoned his race to join him, “Can you sit here and keep an eye on your brother while I go and fetch the first aid box?”

“Oh no ouches?” John gasped and Mycroft wrapped an arm around his waist pulling him close,

“He fell and hurt his knees last night, but he’s okay, I just need some fresh plasters.” Mycroft tapped his finger against John’s nose,

“I get them?” John asked patting his chest,

“No darling I need you to wait here with Lock for a moment while I get them.”

“Kay,” John nodded and allowed himself to be maneuvered into the space that Mycroft had vacated, 

“You stay right there, I’ll just be a moment.”

“Moment.” John nodded and Mycroft swept out of the room. When he returned half a minute later he found John resting on his knees by Sherlock’s legs, patting his younger brother on the chest as he mumbled, “Lock likes ice cream,”

Sherlock nodded,

“An’ biskits,”

Sherock nodded,

“An’ sweeties,”

“What else does he like, dear?” Mycroft asked, positioning himself on the floor by Sherlock, hoping John had him suitably distracted for the moment.

“Err… hugs?”

Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft smiled, “Yes, he likes hugs, what else?”

“John-John?” John asked patting his own chest once with each syllable,

“Noooo,” Mycroft shook his head, “Lock doesn’t ‘like’ John-John, he loves John-John.”

“Love me?” John asked, his hand still on his chest.

“That’s right, isn’t is Lock?” Mycroft asked having successfully cleaned and plastered one knee, Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft moved onto the other knee. “Anything else Lock likes?”

“’E likes telly.” John nodded,

“I know that’s true isn’t is Lock?” Mycroft asked, tickling Sherlock’s stomach and the youngest giggled, “I’ll take that as a yes, and look at that, all done. Brave boy, bum up,” Mycroft pulled up Sherlock’s pyjamas and helped him settle for a nap, pulling a cover over him. “John dear, do you want to play with your cars or would you like to watch some telly?”

“Errr, telly wif Lock.” 

“That sounds like a lovely idea. Shall we call Pa and see how his day is going?”

“Oh yeh!” John nodded, “Oh no!”

“What’s wrong darling?”

“Needs my chart…and stickers!”

“Quite right, you wait with your brother I’ll be right back.”

“Okay I waits.”

“That’s right you wait.” Mycroft planted a quick kiss on the top of John’s head and dashed from the room returning a moment later with John’s chart and a sheet of gold star stickers.

“I do it I do it!” John squealed as he raced towards Mycroft,

“Gently dear, gently. Sit down and I’ll help you.” Mycroft held the chart and stickers out of John’s reach,

John sat down with a huff, jostling Sherlock in the process,

“Gently, darling, or I’ll think you need quiet time.”

“No quiet time.” John frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. Mycroft peered down at him with a fond smirk, 

“Now you look like your Da, don’t be cross with me dear, come on,” Mycroft sat on the coffee table across from John, “Let’s put some stickers on your chart, I’ll hold it for you,”

John perked up and leaned over to take the stickers from his Pa, “’ow many?”

“Three.”

“Free?!”

“Three, you’ve been a very good boy.”

“Good boy.” John nodded before sticking one star onto the chart with the focus of an agent disposing of a bomb. 

“That’s one, well done,”

“Two,” John mumbled as he removed the second star from the sheet,

“And that’s two, one more.”

“One more,” John nodded, he then broke out into a broad grin as he looked down as his now very starry chart. 

“Good job,” Mycroft reached over to ruffle John’s hair, “Let’s give your Da a call then you two can watch some telly,”

“Lock’s asleep.” John delivered in a stage whisper. It wasn’t that Mycroft hadn’t noticed, Mycroft noticed everything. He just hadn’t expected John to have noticed,

“So he is, we’d better keep our voices down.”

“He’s very sleepy.”

“Mm, I expect you’re very sleepy too, you two have had a tiring week.”

“Mmhm, we did lotsa runnin’,” John mumbled as he rubbed one eye with a closed fist. Mycroft tsked fondly and moved to sit next to John on the sofa, he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, John curled into him, resting his legs on Mycroft’s lap and resting his cheek on his shoulder.

“And what else did you do?” Mycroft asked as he ran his fingers through John’s hair,

“I did sum fightin’, wif my hands.”

“Mm, yes you did,” Mycroft sighed as he ran his thumb gently across John’s bruised knuckles, “Your Da and I will have a chat with big John about that. Did you get any rest?”

“Think so,”

“I’m not so sure,” Mycroft chuckled, “Let’s call your Da before you fall asleep,”

“No sleepy.”

“No, of course not.” Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Greg before holding up the phone to show both his and John’s faces. The phone rang for a moment before Greg’s cheery face appeared (well, cheery to anyone who didn’t know him, and Mycroft knew him better than anyone). 

“There are my boys.” Greg smiled, “Where’s Lock?”

“Asleep, dear. John wanted to call to show you something very important before he has a nap.”

“No sleepy,” John mumbled again,

“No, right, sorry dear. Show Da your chart,” Mycroft handed it to John who proudly held it up before pulling it out of the way so he could see Greg’s reaction. It was exactly as he’d imagined, Greg looked proud as punch.

“That’s my boy! Three stars already? You must have been so good!”

“I was!” John smiled before yawning,

“Right, clever boy, you be good for your Pa until lunch then I’ll call again. If you’re a good lad all day I’ll bring you a present.”

“A prezzie?” 

“That’s right Junior. Give your Pa a big hug for me and I’ll call you in a little bit.”

“In a little bit,” John nodded and Greg blew a kiss,

“Sweet dreams love.”

And then he was gone. Mycroft felt a pang but John was unmoved, his Da would be calling again soon. 

“Sleepy boy, here you curl up with Lock-“

“Wif you please.”

“With me?”

“Please Pa.” John nodded and Mycroft relented, if only the criminals of the world knew how easily Mycroft Holmes could be swayed by good manners.

“I’ll just fetch my laptop then you can cuddle with me,”

“Yes please.”

“Such a polite boy, I’ll just be a moment.”

John fidgeted while he waited for Mycroft to return, it seemed to take an awfully long time. He was just about to start worrying when his Pa walked through the door, laptop under one arm and Fox in his hand.

“I thought Fox might need a nap too,” Mycroft smiled as he wedged himself between John and the arm of the sofa. Sherlock stirred for a moment before settling again and John curled up between them, his head in Mycroft’s lap. As that had been where Mycroft was planning on keeping his laptop, he instead balanced it on the arm of the sofa and opened his emails, all the while stroking John’s hair with his free hand.

“Da said give you hug.” John mumbled and Mycroft smiled,

“So he did.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right you horrible lot... I usually say something along the lines of 'hope you're all doing alright', and well, I've never bloody meant it more. You doing alright? You better be. Look after yourselves, please. Apologies for this one, not sure how great a chapter it is, it sort of all just happened in one go and usually when that happens I'll read it back a few days later and wince, then spend a week going over and over it before posting it. This time I've scrapped that and I'm just bloody posting it. Because we're all having a shit time and a bit of bad writing is the least of anyone's worries. Hopefully, it'll make a couple of you smile for a minute and that's priority numero uno.

Mycroft had successfully been putting the world to rights for an hour and a half and felt generally quite impressed with himself and his boys who had both been out for the count as he worked. He had been desperate for caffeine for the last hour but considered a quiet work environment more important than his caffeine addiction and so he’d soldiered on, making the most of a house filled with sleeping babies. He had successfully communicated to Anthea that he was, wherever possible, not to be contacted on the phone for the rest of the day. While not an ideal situation, this was not unheard of. Mycroft often solved one diplomatic crisis silently via email (where good Wi-Fi allowed) while solving another over tea at a foreign embassy. He had also cleared the unavoidable morning backlog of communications between himself and the civil servants that operated as his team. It was only when the bundle that had spent ninety minutes sleeping with its head on his knee, stirred and unintentionally kicked its brother that Mycroft pulled his mind from work back to home.

“Oh, gently John dear,” Mycroft mumbled as he reached over and took a hold of John’s ankle to keep him from kicking Sherlock again. He hoped for a moment that the kick would go unnoticed by the younger of the two. 

It did not.

“Ow!” Sherlock whined and rubbed his thigh where John’s heel had made contact, “John bad!”

“It was an accident darling.” Mycroft soothed as he released John’s ankle and squeezed Sherlock’s knee.

John, who seemed oblivious to the goings on, rolled off the sofa and made his way towards the television. 

“John bad!” Sherlock insisted and pointed an angry finger at his brother.

“Come here darling, come on,” Mycroft held out an arm and Sherlock crawled across the sofa towards him. However as soon as Sherlock was within arm’s reach of the brightly lit laptop screen, he reached out with an uncoordinated palm,

“Mine!”

“Nooo,” Mycroft pulled Sherlock’s hand away and snapped the laptop closed, “That’s Pa’s laptop,”

“Mine?!”

“No dear, but this is yours, look, here’s your blanket.”

“Mine?” Sherlock asked as he switched his attention to the tartan fabric Mycroft held aloft,

“Yes, that’s yours.”

“Keeps?” Sherlock asked as he grabbed the blanket from Mycroft’s hand and rubbed it against his cheek,

“Yes,” Mycroft chuckled, “That’s yours to keep. Did you sleep well?” He asked as brushed wayward curls from the younger man’s forehead.

“No, ouch!” Sherlock protested, pointing to his thigh again, Pa did not seem to be realising that he had been brutally attacked just moments before! Had John made contact with either of Sherlock’s rather painfully sore knees, he would have been concerned. As it was John’s heel had lightly scuffed Sherlock’s upper thigh, had he not already been stirring, he wouldn’t have noticed at all.

“I know, I know,” Mycroft soothed, pulling Sherlock towards him, “Silly John, eh?”

“No silly.” Sherlock pouted.

“Put that lip away young man, you know I don’t negotiate with pouters.” Mycroft watched Sherlock closely with bated breath, either he would giggle at the joke and all would be well, or he’d crumble, and Mycroft would be left to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t the first time he’d used that line on Sherlock and it wouldn’t be the last, the little man was very fond of an over dramatic pout when he felt it would swing things his way.

“John…” Sherlock started, before taking a long hitching breath, “Mean!” Tears and snot seemed to explode from Sherlock’s face as though someone had turned the faucet on (and it definitely wasn’t John this time).

“Okay,” Mycroft sighed, he slid his laptop down into the gap between the sofa and the wall and pushed himself up before turning to Sherlock and moving to hoist him from the sofa, “Someone’s very little today,” with a little more effort than it seemed to take his husband, Mycroft lifted Sherlock onto his hip and let the boy wrap his long legs around his waist, making carrying him that little bit easier. He collected the discarded dummy from the sofa and ‘cleaned’ it in his own mouth before slipping it between Sherlock’s lips. “There, that’s better, hm? Let’s go and wash your face,”

“Nooo.” Sherlock sobbed,

“Oh dear me, poor lad,” Mycroft commiserated with Sherlock before turning to John, “John dear, come on,”

John’s head snapped around to look at Mycroft, “Why?!” he whined and Mycroft arched an eyebrow,

“Because I said so, come on,” He held out a hand to John who reluctantly pushed himself from the floor and trotted over, letting Mycroft take his hand.

“Why I gotta come?” John asked as he used the hand Mycroft was holding his own with to wipe his own snot from his nose. Mycroft didn’t even notice this, something that would stun his younger self. 

“Because you’re toooo little to leave my side,” Mycroft sang the ‘too’ in the hope it would take any bite out of the reality in his statement. 

“I’m very big.” John argued as he followed Mycroft down the hall.

“Oh, very big?”

“Very very big.”

“Too big for a kiss?”

“No!” John grinned as he shook his head back and forth, when he finally stopped shaking his head he noticed that his Pa had stopped and was pouting at him, he landed a quick kiss on his lips,

“Thank you dear, now come along.”

John giggled, Pa was silly.

“Pa? Pa? Pa?!”

“Yes darling?”

“What we do now?”

“What are we doing?” Mycroft sat Sherlock on the kitchen table and pulled out a seat for John,

“Yeah what we doing?”

“Well, I’ve got to clean your little brother’s face,”

“Nooooooo!” Sherlock cried and huffed. Mycroft rolled his eyes as he ran a clean cloth under the cold tap before returning to Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock to rest his cheek against his chest and held the cool cloth over the younger mans tired, sore eyes. 

“There, is that better, hm?”

Sherlock nodded.

“And once this little one is cleaned up, we’re going to have a little bite to eat and then you can play with your toys for a while.”

“Can you play with us?”

“I still have some work to do, poppet, do you think you can play nicely without me?”

“No,” John pouted, and glared stubbornly down at the table. Mycroft sighed and reached over with his free hand to gently run his thumb along John’s protruding lip.

“What’s with all of this pouting today? I thought I taught you both better.”

John wiped his nose and suddenly very wet eyes with his arm and Mycroft’s heart broke. Between the quiet hitching of Sherlock’s chest as he clung onto Mycroft for dear life and the lost tearful look on John’s face there was no way of avoiding the fact that they had both had a very hard, very waring, very upsetting week.

“Come here to me, come on,” Mycroft guided John up from his seat with a palm on the back of his head and pulled him into his chest too. John, however, wasn’t happy about sharing his Pa with Sherlock and began to push Sherlock’s head away,

“My turn,” John grumbled, “Loooockkkk,” he whined when Sherlock didn’t give up his territory,

“John, no.” Mycroft tried not to bark or smack, instead he pulled John away from Sherlock by his arm, firmly, “That’s not nice, he’s only little, you need to be gentle.”

“’M only little too,” John grumbled, and Mycroft nodded, he spoke the truth.

“I know darling, I know,” Mycroft sighed, what he wouldn’t give for his husband to walk through the door.

“Up please?!” John cried, and Mycroft wished for all the world that they were both as physically small as they were mentally, at least then he could carry them both.

“Come on,” Mycroft hauled Sherlock back onto his hip and started to pull John along with him, “I can’t hold you both darling, let’s sit down.”

“Why can you hold Lock, an’ not me?!” John cried as he let himself be pulled in the direction of the front room.

“I’m sorry my love but I’m not sure he could walk on his own right now, come on let’s fetch Fox, pick him up for me darling.” John shuffled along with Mycroft sadly but did as he was told and picked up Fox, squeezing him close as Mycroft turned their little train around and made his way towards the stairs.

“Where we go?”

“We’re going upstairs, come on darling can you walk in front of me?” Mycroft ushered John ahead of him and guided him upstairs with a hand on his back, Sherlock’s head was now lolling on his shoulder.

“Why?” John hiccupped, still overtaken by tears.

“Because we all need some quiet time.”

“No.” John cried,

“Yes dear,”

“No corner.”

“No darling, no corner.” 

John nodded, glad to hear it and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. As soon as they reached the landing, Mycroft pulled John along towards his and Greg’s bedroom.

John was instantly somewhat soothed when they crossed the threshold. The room smelled of both of his dads.

“Up on the bed poppet,” Mycroft ushered John towards the bed and he clambered onto the mattress, “Good boy,” he then lowered Sherlock onto the bed before toeing off his shoes and making his way towards the head rest. 

“Everyone needs to take a deep breath.” He mumbled, mostly to himself before holding out his arms towards each boy, “Come on, I can hold you both now, see?”

“Yeh,” John hiccupped as he crawled towards Mycroft, Sherlock however sat where he’d been put and looked towards Mycroft rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand,

“P-Pa?” He asked, and Mycroft beckoned him, no longer able to go to him as he was pinned against the head board by John-John and Fox. 

“Come on darling,” 

Sherlock nodded and started to crawl towards Mycroft, stopping every inch or so to regain his balance, when he finally finished the two-foot journey Mycroft cheered,

“Clever, clever boy. Well done.” He pulled Sherlock close and kissed him on the forehead. “I think all good boys need to rest their eyes.”

Sherlock nodded against Mycroft’s chest, John, however, shook his head.

“Why are you shaking your head at me, hm?” Mycroft asked, and John fussed trying to sit up, “No, no, lie back down.” John fidgeted but was beaten by Mycroft’s unwavering arm, holding him close. “It’s time to rest poppet.”

“No go?”

“No go?” Mycroft repeated as he tried to work out what the younger man meant.

“Mm.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere.”

“No! No you go!” John protested, suddenly upset, “No go please.” He shook his head fiercley.

“No I’m not going anywhere,” Mycroft answered having deciphered John’s message, John sighed audibly and rested his head back against his Pa,

“Good.” He nodded.

“Yes, quite right dear, good.” Mycroft kissed John’s hair, “Can you close your eyes for me?”

“M not sleepy.”

“No, I know darling, but could you close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath?”

“N-no thanks.” John shook his head and Mycroft peered down at him,

“Well, firstly you are my boy after all, so polite!”

John smiled against Mycroft’s chest.

“Now then, why don’t you want to close your eyes?”

“Don’t want the dark.” John mumbled.

“Oh, okay. That’s a very fair response my love.”

“Now Lock’s ‘sleep can me an’ you play?”

“Noooo!” Sherlock roused himself from his half slumber, “No sleep!” He pushed himself up from where he’d been lolling on Mycroft and landed a solid push at John.

“That’s quite enough of that,” Mycroft chastised as he moved himself between the two boys, knowing that John was likely to retaliate. Indeed, John’s eyes grew dark and he let out an angry little growl as he tried to reach around Mycroft, his fist balled. “John Hamish Watson, don’t, you, dare.”

“’E started it!” John huffed, scrabbling onto his knees as he tried to push past the arm that Mycroft was holding him back with. “His fault!”

Mycroft aimed his most intimidating glare at John, unaware that while Sherlock was hiding behind him, he was still able to kick out, and did so, aiming for John.

“Enough!” both boys stilled, Sherlock’s fight long forgotten, John’s not so much. “John, hands on your head-“

“Not fair-“

“Right now.”

John relented, finally unbaling his fists he rested his hands on top of his head. Mycroft turned to Sherlock, he was about to start dealing with him when he realised his current position held little authority. He pushed himself up from the bed, warning John not to move with a sternly pointed finger. Once he was standing he helped Sherlock stand.

“Go and sit your bottom in the corner,” Mycroft pointed. Sherlock pouted. Mycroft rolled his eyes and took Sherlock’s hand, leading him to the corner of the room he pushed on his shoulders until the boy was sitting before crouching down to face him. “Do not move from this spot until I tell you. We do not push, we do not hit, we do not kick.”

Mycroft turned his attention to John who was still kneeling on the bed, his hands on his head.

“And you, young man. What has your Da told you about fists?”

“Fists is for fightin’ and fightin’ not allowed.” John mumbled.

In truth Greg’s lecture on the matter had been far lengthier. The lecture itself required after an incident in which a young John had punched a young Sherlock. It would seem that while he had been mentally young, he still possessed the physical fighting abilities of a well-trained armed forces veteran. Sherlock had been concussed. Mycroft was devastated. Greg was furious. Neither were surprised. It would appear that regardless of mental age, John Watson was easy to rile up and quick to physical retaliation. 

Mycroft was torn on how to deal with John. He felt that the matter should be sorted out immediately so they could all move on with their day. However this sort of thing, particularly where John was concerned, was really Greg’s territory. Never one to admit to passing the buck on discipline, he had to concede that Gregory had a particular talent in this area. 

“We are going to phone your father young man.”

Mycroft cringed inwardly. That had been entirely unintentional. He had intended to say ‘We’re going to phone your Da, young man,’ however instinct had taken over. He felt, to quote his beloved husband, like an ‘old woman’ whenever he said ‘your father’ however the words seemed to fall out of his mouth whenever the boys had been particularly badly behaved and Greg was nowhere in sight. 

“No,” John shook his head, still not removing his hands, “Da be mad.”

Mycroft sighed and crossed the room to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “No dear, your Da is never mad. Except in matters relating to football. I think he’ll be a little bit cross because you were naughty, but he won’t be mad.”

“Didn’t hit ‘im.”

“No, but you tried. And if I hadn’t have stopped you, I’m certain you would have. Do you agree with that?”

John frowned, Mycroft had used a lot of long words. 

“Darling,” Mycroft leaned over and gently lowered John’s hands for him, “Come and sit next to me,” he patted the edge of the bed and John shuffled over before lowering his legs over the edge. “You tried to hit your brother, and if Pa wasn’t here to stop you, you would have. You could have really hurt him. You’re a strong boy.”

“Yeah, I’m strong.” John nodded, puffing out his chest a little with pride.

“Yes, you are. Which is why you have to control your anger. You don’t really want to hurt Lock, do you?”

“Sometimes.” John mumbled.

Again Mycroft sighed, he couldn’t blame the boy for that.

“I know,” He swept John’s hair back from his face, “It’s hard having a little brother. You worry about them all the time and most of the time they’re just…annoying.”

John nodded.

“But I know that you don’t want to hurt him, not really. Even if you don’t always know that. Which is why Da and I are here to stop you hurting him before you regret it.” Mycroft pulled one of John’s hands to his lips and kissed it, “No fists, young man, not in this house.” John nodded. “Sit back against the pillows, let’s call your Da and tell him what happened. Then I’ll take your brother and settle him down for a nap and you and Da can have a little talk on your own.”

John nodded and Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket before shifting up to sit next to John.

Mycroft felt guilty ringing Greg again so soon, but he felt it was the only way to draw a line under the matter.

“Ay! This is a nice surprise.” Greg grinned before sensing the tone of the room, “What’s wrong, who’s hurt?”

“No one dear, everyone is quite alright.”

“What’s wrong though, something’s wrong?” 

“Well we had a little incident, one that I thought you had better talk to John about, if you’ve got a moment.”

“All the time in the world for you three.”

“Well, Lock tried very hard to wind our John up-“

“Kicked me!” John butted in,

“Oi, don’t interrupt your Pa.” Greg scowled and John fell silent.

“He did try to kick John, try being the important word. He did however, succeed in pushing him. Anyway that’s not the issue, I’m dealing with Sherlock’s little tantrum. The problem is that our John thought it was appropriate to ball his fist and try to aim for his brother.”

“Try, you said try right, love?”

“Yes, I managed to position myself between the two of them before anything nasty happened.”

“Good.” Greg sighed, running a hand over his face. Mycroft’s heart ached at the exhausted look in his eyes.

“I’m going to put the baby down for a nap, I’ll leave you two to talk. Here John dear,” Mycroft handed the phone over to John and made his way over to Sherlock.

The youngest of the family was somehow half asleep but still crying over the injustice of his lengthy prison sentence. Mycroft lifted him into his arms and walked him out of the room. 

“Right then, Monkey. Are you allowed to hit your brother?”

“No…but I didn’t really hit ‘im Da-“

“Did you try?”

John averted his gaze.

“Look at me, John lad. Did you try to hit your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then we need to do something about that don’t we?”

“No.” John pouted sadly and Greg sighed,

“Yes love, we do.”

“You comin’ home?” John asked, slightly perked up by the idea,

“No love, not just yet-“

“Then can’t do nothin’ if you’re not here.”

“Oi, don’t be cheeky,”

“Not bein’ cheeky, jus’ want you to come home.”

“I know love, I’ll be home this evening.”

“No come now!” John whined, as he frustratedly brushed tears from his eyes.

“Ay, ay monkey it’s alright,” Greg tried to sooth him, “I’ll be home before you know it, take a deep breath for me,”

“No.”

“Don’t you say no to me. Come on, I’ll do it with you-“

“You not here!” John shouted as he flung the phone across the room.

“John! John?! Pick up the phone right now young man.” Greg tried to keep the panic from his voice but realised he was failing.

Mycroft rushed into the room, he’d heard John growing distressed from the boys’ bedroom and made his way to help out as soon as Sherlock had dozed off. “John dear? Oh dear me,”

“Myc, is he alright?!” Greg’s disembodied voice floated over from the carpet and Mycroft picked up the discarded phone,

“Yes dear, he’s alright,” Mycroft lay the phone on the bed while he positioned himself back against the headboard and pulled a very distressed John against him, “Deep breaths John,”

“Stop sayin’ that!”

“Okay, alright, look your Da wants to see that you’re okay.” Mycroft held the phone back up so Greg could be brought back into the conversation.

“Monkey?”

“Da?”

“You got a bit upset, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s alright, I get upset like that too sometimes.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah, all the time, isn’t that right Myc?”

“Oh more times than I care to count.”

“See? Everything’s okay,”

“Not mad?”

“No, never.”

“Little bit cross?”

“Yeah, I’m a little bit cross that you tried to hit your brother. But I’m not cross that you were upset.”

“Timeout?”

“That’s right Monkey, for three minutes. But Pa’s going to sit with you so you wont be on your own. I’m sure he’s done something naughty today that he needs to think about.”

“How very dare you, my behaviour has been exemplary!” 

“Nooo,” John giggled, “You said a bad word to Anthea,”

“You heard that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well then your Pa definitely needs a timeout. He’s lucky it’s not worse. But John lad, anymore naughtiness today and I’ll smack your bum when I get home. Neither of us want that so be on your very best behaviour, you hear me?”

“Okay,”

“Apart from his little outburst earlier he really has been a very good boy.”

“I’m not even a little bit surprised. My Monkey is a very good monkey.”

“No he’s MY Monkey,” Mycroft protested, pulling John close,

“No, you’re both mine. Where’s my baby is he asleep?”

“Our baby and yes, he must be exhausted he’s barely been able to keep his eyes open today.”

“I miss him too.”

“He’s little little, Da.”

“I know, it was a difficult week for big John and big Sherlock.” Greg cast a look in Mycroft’s direction.

“Mmhm.” John nodded, rubbing his cheek on Mycroft’s shirt.

“John lad, if you want to talk to me at any time today, ask Pa to send me a message and he’ll type it for you and I can write back,” Greg added as he found he was growing a little emotional himself about the idea of hanging up the phone.

“Pa read it?” John sat up slightly, so he could make eye contact with Mycroft.

“Yes I’ll read Da’s message out to you dear, how does that sound?” Mycroft asked as he brushed his fingers through John’s hair.

“Good.” John nodded.

“Yes that sounds like an excellent idea.” Mycroft planted a kiss on John’s forehead before turning his attention back to Greg. 

“I’ll call as well, I’ll call you a little bit later to check in.”

“Check in.” John nodded.

“That’s right.” Greg nodded,

“Check in with me,” John repeated patting his chest.

“That’s right Monkey,” Greg smiled, “You just try to be a good boy ‘til then.”

“Okay Da.”

“Alright then, I’d better be going-“

“No yet!” John squeaked sitting upright,

“Myc, I’ve got to go,” Greg cast a an apologetic glance in Mycroft’s direction, hoping he’d be able to help.

“I know dear, come on John let’s say bye to Da for now, he’ll call us later.”

“Don’t want him to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere lad, I’ll be on the end of the phone if you need me.”

“Come on dear, you need to do your timeout and pick what you’re having for lunch, blow a kiss to Da and we’ll talk to him in a little bit.”

“In a little bit,” John nodded.

“That’s right Monkey. Love you,” Greg blew a kiss at John who clumsily did the same and then once again Greg was gone.

“Right then my lovely boy,” Mycroft sighed, slipping the phone back into his pocket as he stood from the bed. “You hold Fox and we’ll go downstairs, we’ve got to be quiet, so we don’t wake your brother.”

“Okay I be quiet.”

“That’s a good boy,” 

Mycroft lead John quietly out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Once they were in the hallway, he tried to usher John towards the living room.

“Right then, l’m just going to fetch your timer-“

“I come?” John asked, clinging onto Mycroft’s hand.

“Alright then, you can come with me.” Mycroft smiled with a nod and gently pulled John along with him.

“An you sit with me?”

“Yes dear, you heard what Da said.”

“An then you stay with me?”

“All day darling.”

“Can I drawed something for Da?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“What I draw?”

“Well, what would you like to draw?”

“I’m good at houses?” It was a statement but John’s inflection suggested he was looking for some sort of positive reinforcement. 

“That you are, why don’t you draw our house?”

“We have lotsa houses.”

“I suppose we do.” Mycroft managed to remove John’s hand from his for a moment so he could rummage through the cupboards in search of the egg timer.

“Yeh, this one, an Mrs Hudson one and big garden one.”

“Which one is your favourite?”

“Like alla them. But big garden one has goalposts so…”

“Yes, you and your Da can play football at the cottage.”

“Can play football anywhere with a ball!” John grew excited, however was frustrated not to be holding Mycroft’s hand and he pulled at his shirt.

“Well, not anywhere.” Mycroft mumbled as he finally found the timer.

“Yeah anywhere!”

“Well, not inside the house.” Mycroft grumbled as he picked John up.

“No but only cos Pa says no.”

“And I do say no, so there,” Mycroft poked out his tongue at John making the younger man laugh. “Right, three minutes, see?” Mycroft held the timer aloft so John could see that it was set for the right time. “Down you get,” John reluctantly dropped his feet to the ground and sat himself on the floor.

“Pa sit,” He patted the floor and Mycroft nodded,

“Yes dear.” Mycroft elegantly crossed his feet and dropped to the floor, “Now then, fingers on lips,” Mycroft held his finger over his mouth and John copied.

They sat in comfortable silence for about a minute and a half before John grew fidgety. Mycroft silently took his feet into his lap and stroked his ankle. 

“Pa.” John whined, 

“I know darling, you’re doing so well, almost done.”

John nodded but rather than sitting still he shuffled forward and clambered into Mycroft’s lap.

“Oh okay, alright, let’s sit quietly though.”

John nodded but sighed, leaning back against Mycroft’s chest. They served the rest of their joint sentence and eventually, after a long wait for John, the timer pinged.

“Done Pa?” John asked immediately.

“Yes darling, all done, good boy.” Mycroft kissed John’s cheek, “Now come on little limpet, let your old Pa up.”

“Kay Pa.” John crawled out of Mycroft’s lap and with an exhausted groan, Mycroft pushed himself up. 

“Right then, let’s get you some lunch and then you can play while I get some work done.”

“Work not done?” John asked as Mycroft pulled him to his feet and lead him from the room. Fox still clutched in his other hand.

“No darling, I’m afraid my work is never done, yes dear?” Mycroft turned to check in with John who had come to a halt.

“Pa up?” John asked, and Mycroft sighed, he really was feeling the toll of carrying the two boys around all day, however there was little debating with John’s eyes.

“Yes darling,” With that, Mycroft picked up John once again. “What would you like for lunch, hm?”

“Don’t know,” John mumbled as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, “What Lock havin’?”

“Lock is having a nap dear, he’ll have something when he wakes up.”

“So John choose?”

“Yes, you can choose whatever you’d like.”

“I dunno.” John sagged against Mycroft, defeated by his own uncertainty.

“How about a sandwich?”

“Oh, cheese?”

“Would that be nice?”

“Yeh. And crisps?”

“I suppose, as a treat.” Mycroft walked them both into the kitchen and pulled a seat out for John, “Climb down and take a seat darling.”

“Can I have some juice?” John asked as he sat down.

“Yes, you can have some juice. But don’t you tell your brother. He’ll want the same and he’s too little for that amount of sugar today.”

“He get squeaky.”

Mycroft laughed, “That he will. Squeaky, that’s very good John.” Mycroft winked in John’s direction as he began preparing their lunch. “Would you like pickle?”

“Was that?” John asked wide eyed.

“This, here,” Mycroft opened the jar and held it under John’s nose for him to smell. John blinked a few times,

“No thank you,”

Mycroft smiled in response to John’s politeness,

“Looks like poo.”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose and screwed the lid back on the jar, “And I don’t think I’ll be having either.” 

“You no like it?” John asked,

“Sometimes, particularly with cheddar. Your Da likes it a lot.”

“Can have a little tiny bit on the side?” John asked sweetly as he tapped the edge of the plate Mycroft was working on.

“You or me, dear?”

“Me.” John patted his chest.

“You really are your Da’s mini me, aren’t you?”

“Yeh.” John grinned.

“Which flavour crisps would you like?”

“Rashers!” 

“Come now darling, you know I don’t keep those things in the house. I’m not entirely sure what their primary ingredient is…it may be recycled cardboard, but whose to say?”

“Wotsits?”

“No.”

“Chipsticks?”

“John dear, do you not know me at all? We’ve got Kettle Chips or Waitrose own,” Mycroft held two packets aloft, “Which will it be?”

“What flavour?”

“Plain.”

“That’s not a flavour,” John giggled,

“It most certainly is,” Mycroft opened the smaller of the two packets and poured some onto John’s plate. “What flavour would you say that is,” Mycroft asked, holding one crisp to John’s lips. He quickly crunched down and thought for a moment before smiling at Mycroft,

“Salt!”

“Christ, I’m a terrible parent.” Mycroft muttered to himself as he packed away the ingredients and poured John some juice. “Don’t tell your Da about me giving you crisps for lunch, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Da likes crisps.”

“Yes he does, entirely too much.”

“One time when you was working Da gave me an Lock a big-“ John held his arms out to demonstrate “bag of crisps for dinner an’ said don’t tell Pa.”

“Did he now? That’s very good to know, that you darling.” Mycroft smiled to himself as he took his seat.

“You’re welcome.” John smiled innocently as he chomped away at his sandwich. “Can Pa take poo off my plate? Don’t want it anymore.” John frowned as he stared at the small pile of pickle, Mycroft laughed as he leant over and swept it from the plate with one finger.

“Decided you weren’t a fan after all?” Mycroft asked as he licked the pickle from his finger in one fell swoop.

“Yeh not a fan.” John shook his head.

“Well it’s always good to try new things, you know, big John likes pickle.”

“Really?”

“Mm, but I think it’s good that you’ve made your own decision on the matter.” Mycroft nodded with a warm smile and John gave a shy smile in return,

“John-John ‘cision.” John nodded again mumbling the last word because he wasn’t entirely sure how Mycroft had pronounced it.

“That’s right, darling.”

“Can I ‘av more crisps?” John asked patting the now empty part of his plate where his crisps has once resided. 

“Nooo, dear that’s quite enough sodium for one meal.”

John gave Mycroft a quizzical look,

“No more crisps darling, you can have some fruit if you’re still hungry, would you like an apple?”

“Mean.” John frowned at the table and Mycroft rolled his eyes as he stood and removed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

“No darling, I assure you, you’d know if I were being ‘mean’. And as you left the bedroom with an un-smacked bottom twenty minutes ago, I think you know I’m being very, very un-mean.” Mycroft held the apple aloft in front of John and raised an eyebrow at the younger man. For a second he could swear he saw a flash of John behind his eyes before John-John glanced up at him, embarrassed. “Mm.” Mycroft nodded before returning to his suit with a self-satisfied smirk. He shouldn’t find any joy in winning an argument with a child but every now and then he’d let himself savour a small victory. “Would you like to draw your Da a picture at the table while I work?”

John nodded with wide eyes, exited at the idea of ‘working’ alongside his Pa.


End file.
